


Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

by Lecavayay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blackjack, Card Counting, Las Vegas, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Norfolk Admirals, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay
Summary: “Welcome to Card Counting 101.”They drop their backpacks and settle into the seats across from where Jaro’s things are.“It’s an artform,” Jaro says, unboxing some cards. “And a science.” He starts to shuffle them and Tyler can barely keep his eyes off the way his fingers fold around the cards. “There are rules to follow, probabilities, and counting, of course.” He starts to deal the cards – a three, five, ten, jack, ten, ace. “But there’s always the unexpected, the human side of things. Which is more than half the fun.”He keeps flipping cards over as he talks.“The things I’m about to teach you were passed down from my brothers before me and their brothers before them. And, if you follow the rules, we’re gonna make a lot of fucking money.”





	Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueabsinthe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueabsinthe/gifts).



> All card counting knowledge is based on the movie 21 and the book Bringing Down the House (which everyone should go watch/read).

The smell hits Tyler first: recycled air that carries a faint trace of cigarette smoke, lingering chlorine from the fountains, a burst of sweet perfume. It’s exactly the same as last time, he thinks. 

The slot machines are alive to his right, spanning out as far as he can see, all neon pinks and golds and blinking reds. He passes them, stepping around animated video screens doing their best the lure him in. He ignores the red and black roulette wheels, the green craps felt, passes a bar with video poker machines.

He's focused on the parallel lines of tables in the middle of the casino, cameras pointed at everyone sitting there. Tyler passes a guy wearing a suit coat, his arms stretched over his head in joy, shouting and drawing attention to himself. He passes the guy in a backwards snapback, too.

There's a nearly empty table on the other side of the floor, just an older women and a scruffy guy sitting slouched in the first seat, a half-empty beer sweating in front of him. Tyler circles around so he can watch the dealer pass out another round of cards. She's good, quick.

The scruffy guy rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.

Tyler sits.

"Good night?" he asks, watching the dealer pass out another round of cards.

"Pretty sweet so far," the guy says, signaling for a hit.

Tyler pulls a stack of hundreds out of his pocket, sets it on the table with a smile. "Let's see if we can make it even sweeter, eh?"

 

 

It's well after five in the morning when Tyler staggers out of the casino with more chips and cash than he should reasonably be carrying. The sun is just starting to come up, lightening the sky behind the fake Eiffel Tower of the Paris hotel across the street. It's hot, even this early in the day.

"Not bad for being rusty," a soft, familiar accent says.

Tyler smiles over at Jaro, leaning casually against the wall with his suit coat over his arm.

"I think I did better, though."

"I'm just warming up, babe," Tyler says, wiggling his winnings at him.

"Oh god I’m so tired I hate you both," Cory groans, spilling out of the revolving door. He looks even scruffier in the early morning light. "Where's Dustin?"

"Had to pee," Jaro says, stepping closer to loop his arm around Cory's shoulders.

"If I had folded when the table was only plus-four we wouldn't have won that last thousand," Tyler says with a finger jab to Cory's chest.  "And you know it."

"But at what cost! My eyes are so _dry_. I’m going to be dreaming about cards and counts for weeks."

Jaro's shuffling through the pockets of his coat for eye drops when Dustin appears in his snapback and a smile.

"That's Vegas baby!" he shouts, arms outstretched to try and gobble them all up in a hug.

The famous fountains are in full swing as they stagger toward the taxi line, tucking their winnings into any pocket space they have available.

There's one car waiting and they all fit comfortably enough for the short ride to the MGM, exhaustion truly setting in now that they’re out of the fresh oxygen being pumped through the casino.

"I've missed this," Jaro says, curved around Tyler in the backseat.

Tyler sees Dustin roll his eyes in the rearview mirror, can hear him fiddling with a couple of chips. Cory's soft snores round out the familiar white noise and yeah, Tyler's definitely missed this.

“We’ve got a whole weekend to get sick of each other,” he says.

Jaro takes Tyler’s hand, links their fingers together. “Impossible.”

 

//

 

_Norfolk State University, three years earlier_

Cory bursts through the front door of the apartment, dropping his backpack and kicking off his shoes in increasingly noisy fashion. Tyler, who was eight seconds from a nap, pops his head up and over the back of the couch to glare.

“Look what I found today,” Cory says, ignoring the disdain radiating from Tyler’s eyes.

He takes the flyer Cory’s holding out to him and squints at it. “A gambling night?”

“Cool, right?” he asks, coming around to sit near Tyler’s feet.

“I mean I guess but, I’m kind of really attached to what little money I have. And it’s at a frat house. It’s a frat _fundraiser_.”

Cory takes the flyer and points to the fine print at the bottom. “Twenty dollar buy-in gets you a-hundred dollars in fake chips to play with.”

“I like my twenty dollars.”

“Dude.”

“ _Dude_. Plus I’ve got Calc 3 at eight-am the next day.” He rolls over so he’s facing the back of couch, hoping Cory takes the hint.

“What if I get Dusty to go?”

“He hates when you call him that,” Tyler grumbles.

“Okay but what if I get him to go? Will you consider it?”

“I guess.”

Cory rushes off and steps on every squeaky floorboard on his way to the kitchen, leaving Tyler to fantasize about graduation in two years when he won’t have to deal with this kind of thing anymore.

“Maybe we can count cards and win the pot,” Cory says, leaning back over the couch. Tyler can hear him chewing on something. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

Tyler sighs. “You can’t count cards.”

“I bet _you_ could, though.”

Tyler lifts his head from where he’d buried it, eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Just a thought!” he says, raising his arms in surrender, a half-eaten fruit roll-up dangling from one hand. “I’m fine with you staying boring.”

Tyler really hates that word.

 

 

He gives in three days later, stomping all the way home after getting a paltry 81 on his linear algebra quiz. “I’ll do it,” he huffs.

Cory, lounged across his bed, pulls out his earbuds. “Huh?”

“I’ll go to the gambling night. On one condition.”

“Name it,” he says, closing his textbook and sitting up.

“You pay my cover.”

“You’re so cheap, bro. I’ll pay…but only if we’re counting cards.”

Tyler licks his lips, feeling a little wild around the edges. Even if it is just a dirty frat house fake casino, it’s still the most illegal thing he’s ever done. Illegal-adjacent. “I’m not promising to be any good at it.”

“You’re good at everything, shut up. I’m telling Dusty you’re in,” he says, grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

“He really, _truly_ , hates it when you call him that.”

“He loves me.”

Tyler hums and turns to head for his room. He could use a few hours of mindless gaming or scrolling through Twitter.

“What made you change your mind?” Cory asks.

The stupid quiz is still balled up in Tyler’s hand. “Figured it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have Life of Crime as a backup career option.”

“Did you get a B on something again?”

Tyler doesn’t think that deserves an answer.

 

 

The frat house isn’t that far from their apartment; just enough off campus so they can throw drunken parties every weekend without getting their charter revoked. It’s a big house – two stories with ridiculous pillars holding up a balcony and three gold Greek letters adorning the door.

“There’s still time to back out,” Cory says once they’re on the porch.

Tyler considers it. “No, c’mon. Just rip off the bandaid, right?”

Dustin slaps him on the back as Cory opens the door, revealing a crowded scene of people in various states of intoxication clustered around green felt tables and mismatched chairs. There’s music blaring from somewhere and ten thousand conversations at various volume levels. Tyler’s overwhelmed.

He’d been practicing in the library and the comfort of his own bedroom, obviously missing a few confounding variables.

“Shit,” he hisses.

“I think all these tables are taken,” Cory says. “Maybe there’s more upstairs.”

He leads the way through the clumps of people standing around with red solo cups until they reach the stairs. Tyler’s hopes that it would be quieter away from the thumping bass is spoiled by the racket of rap music vibrating through the shitty wood floors.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he says. “I can’t concentrate.”

“You haven’t even tried yet,” Cory replies. “I’ll go first. So you can do your thing, okay? It’s easier when you’re not playing, right?”

“That guy’s getting up over there,” Dustin says, pointing to the table to their right.

Cory swoops in before Tyler has the chance to back out, sitting down and trading his twenty dollars for chips.

Tyler watches the guy deal the cards – four, ten, jack, six, three, eight, and a ten for Cory. The count is 0. Seven, ten, eight, nine, two, queen, and a three for Cory. The count is still 0. Fuck.

“Should I hit?” he asks Tyler.

The dealer has an eight showing. “Yeah, I guess.”

But in the moment it takes Tyler to decide that, the first player has already busted and had his cards taken away. Tyler’s lost the count.

“It’s still zero,” Dustin says, leaning down to whisper. “He got a four and a ten.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows at him while keeping an eye on the next girl’s cards – she has 20, she stays.

Dustin shrugs, “I have google, too.”

That startles a laugh out of Tyler as the third guy stays on an eighteen and the fourth guy busts with a ten: minus-one.

It goes on like that for hand after hand, Tyler counting and feeding Cory by-the-book blackjack rules. His pile of chips has stayed steady, winning some and losing some. But then Dustin nudges him as the dealer goes through five small cards and busts on an eight. The table’s plus-nine now.

“Double your money,” Tyler tells Cory as he’s putting up another chip.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He watches as the cards land – ten, jack, ten, seven, four, ace, and Cory gets a ten, two, eight, nine, queen, ten, four, and –

“Blackjack!” Cory shouts in celebration.

As the dealer doubles Cory’s chips, the guy in the first seat gets up, tugged away by one of his friends. The table isn’t hot anymore but two players are better than one, Tyler thinks.  

“You got him?” he asks Dustin. “Or should I stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend the electric bill money.”

So Tyler pulls out the twenty Cory gave him on the way to the house and sits down. It’s thrilling, seeing the chips get piled up in front of him, all different colors. He pushes a red chip in and waits for the deal.

He finds it’s no more difficult than when he was counting for Cory, plus he can take his time when it’s his turn, slow the movement of cards for just a second. “Hit.”

He busts and watches the dealer swipe away his chip. The rest of the table wins, though, and the count rises. Tyler pushes another red chip forward and waits for the deal.

 

 

It’s half past one when the last player heads off for the bar, leaving Tyler and Cory alone at the table. Tyler’s neatly stacked pile of chips had fallen over sometime between the plus-seventeen run and the back-to-back blackjacks. Cory’s is equally messy, if not slightly smaller.

It actually worked.

“Uh,” the dealer says. “Are you guys gonna just, like, sit here all night, or?”

Tyler notices, for the first time, that the upstairs has cleared out significantly. There’s only a few couples and small groups of people still wandering around. He can’t tell if the music has been turned down or his ears have just gotten used to it.  “Oh, um. We can go, I guess.”

“Looks like we have our winners, hm?” a voice, lightly accented, says from behind them.

Tyler turns to face them and finds a tall drink of water in the same navy blazer as the dealer, hands in the pockets of his khakis. His smile is wide and sparkling even in the dim lighting.

“You really cleaned us out there at the end,” he continues.

“Lucky break,” Tyler says, doing his best to feign innocence despite the crushing realization that they could be found out at any moment.

The guy hums and extends a hand. “I’m Jaro, the treasurer of Nu Omega Rho.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Tyler,” he says, shaking Jaro’s hand. “And this is Cory and Dustin.”

Cory waves like an idiot.

“Congratulations guys. There’s some paperwork I’ll need one of you to fill out and then the check is all yours.”

Tyler stands for the first time in a couple hours and groans at how good it feels to stretch his muscles. “Sure. Whatever you need.” He stifles a yawn, the adrenaline of winning finally burning off.

He follows Jaro away from the casino tables, down a short hallway, and into the last room on the left. The clicking of the door closing behind them makes Tyler’s heart jump in his chest and his mind races through ten different scenarios how this could go bad—

“What was the count?” Jaro asks, flipping to a blank page in the notebook on his desk.

Oh fuck. “T-the count?”

Jaro’s lips curl into a sly smile as he hands Tyler a pen. “Before the last guy gave up and left the table. What were you up to? Had to be pretty high to keep you playing with the amount of chips you and your friend had.”

Tyler swallows, bites his bottom lip. “Uh.”

“It’s okay, you know. You guys only hustled us out of a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“How did you…I mean, were we that obvious?” He immediately regrets asking.

Jaro places the crisp check on the desk next to the notebook. “For starters, you were the only guys not drinking. No cups or bottles of beer. That’s what caught my attention. Second was your betting pattern – sign here.”

Tyler scribbles his signature on the line.

“You’d win say, three in a row, and then go back to the minimum bet. Most people would keep betting big. But you didn’t because the table went cold. Third,” he says, stepping well into Tyler’s personal space. “You played the game by the book, splitting eights, doubling down on eleven. It was textbook. In a real casino, that wouldn’t be a problem but here, it stuck out like a sore thumb.”

Tyler can smell the spicy cologne Jaro’s wearing, his hair product, the faint sharpness of alcohol on his breath. He tries to focus on the soft checkerboard pattern of his shirt and not the way his own pulse is racing.

“It was smart of you to start small, somewhere like this. And you’re good, you and your friends, but you need a better system. You taught yourself, yes?”

Tyler nods, not trusting his voice to work properly.

Jaro picks up the pen and pushes the sleeve of Tyler’s henley up to his elbow. “This is my number. Text me later.”

Tyler watches Jaro mark up his forearm.

“I think we could be a great team, the four of us,” Jaro says, finishing his phone number with a little heart. “And enjoy the money. You earned it.”

“T-thanks.” Tyler tugs his shirt down over the pen ink and snatches the check from Jaro’s hand, rushing for the door. Cory and Dustin are still standing by the table and he makes their universal symbol for _we’re fucking leaving right this fucking second._

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s halfway down the block, the house no longer in sight.

“Christ, what’s the rush?” Dustin asks, jogging to catch up.

Tyler’s knees go a little weak and he hangs onto a nearby stop sign post to keep upright. “That guy knew we were counting.”

“Shit! Did he call the cops? Is that why we’re speed walking? Cory!” he calls behind him. “Hurry up!”

“No, shhh, stop yelling.” Tyler pulls the check out of his pocket. “He gave us the money.”

Dustin holds it up to the streetlight, as if he could tell a forged check from a real one.

“What were you shouting at me? I couldn’t hear you,” Cory asks, finally reaching them.

“False alarm,” Dustin clarifies. “But if it was a true emergency, you’d be dead, bro.”

“Okay well, you think Domino’s is still open? I’m starving.”

Tyler stops Cory from crossing the street. “Wait. Just, hang on a second. We can’t do this again.”

“Why not?” Cory asks. “We were great at it!”

“We were not great, we were lucky that everyone else was drunk,” Tyler snaps. “And even then, we still got caught.”

Cory scoffs. “We did not get caught.”

“The treasurer guy,” Dustin says. “He figured us out.”

“And we still got the check?”

Tyler grabs the money out of Dustin’s hand. “Yes. But only because he wants to join our card counting team.”

“We don’t have a team,” Cory says, matter-of-factly.

Dustin shrugs. “I mean, we _could_ have a team.”

“We do not have a team,” Tyler states, pointing a finger in Dustin’s face.

The three of them stand there on the street corner, Tyler silently daring either of them to say a single word against him.

“But we _coul--._ ”

 

//

 

_Present Day – Las Vegas, NV_

It’s well into the middle of the day when Tyler wakes up, desert sun beating in through the sheer curtains to bake him in the sheet-covered oven he built for himself overnight.

He groans and tries to unwrap himself without jostling Jaro awake.

“Mmf,” Jaro says into his pillow as he stretches, toes peeking out from under the sheet. “Is it morning already?”

Tyler squints at the clock. “Two-thirty.”

“Thirty more minutes,” he whines.

“Lunchtime is early for you,” Tyler goads, rolling close enough to press a kiss into Jaro’s bare shoulder.

“Only so many days with you. Have to make the most of them.”

Tyler smiles against Jaro’s skin. “Thirty more minutes. I’ll go order food.”

“Something with an egg.”

“Okay.”

Tyler pulls on a pair of boxers before slipping out of the bedroom, taking care to shut the door gently. The rest of the hotel suite is quiet and cool; the sun hasn’t reached the main windows yet. Tyler grabs the room service menu from the kitchenette and flops onto the couch. It’s then that he spots the scribbled note tucked under the ornate vase on the coffee table.

_Daiquiris at the pool_

_Come hang when you’re done “catching up”_

_xx_

He smiles and goes back to trying to find something with an egg at this time of day. Surely the chef could just toss one on a burger or something, he thinks. He orders the salmon for himself and a bottle of nice champagne because he can.

Because here in Vegas, just for this weekend, they’re kings.

He scrolls through Twitter and Facebook and Reddit and is just about to pull up ESPN when the food arrives on a cart covered in a white tablecloth. He tips the waiter with some of the cash from last night and wheels the cart into the bedroom where Jaro’s still sleeping.

He’s flat on his back with the covers kicked low around his hips, one arm over his head, one leg sticking out over the edge of the bed. There’s about as much skin on display as possible without actually being indecent.

Tyler runs his fingers along Jaro’s exposed calf to the soft skin behind his knee. Jaro twitches, ticklish.

“Thirty minutes already?” he mumbles.

Tyler slides his palm over Jaro’s thigh and, feeling daring, presses his fingertips into the muscle. “I got you an egg."

Stretching into Tyler’s touch, he smiles. “Maybe I’m not hungry,” he says in Tyler’s favorite tone of voice. “Maybe I need to work up an appetite.”

Tyler climbs onto the bed, letting his hand slip to the crease of Jaro’s hip. He braces himself on the mattress next to Jaro’s shoulder. “Anything I can help with?”

“I did always like your hands.”

And god, it’s been over a year since they’ve been on the same side of the world and Tyler wants nothing more than to have him like this again and again and again. “What about my mouth?”

Jaro drags his thumb along Tyler’s bottom lip. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Tyler squirms with the praise, leaning down to kiss the cut of Jaro’s jaw. “Yeah?” he whispers.

Jaro squeezes Tyler’s hips before slipping his hands down to palm at his ass through his boxers. “Missed it so much.”

It’s easy to map out the shape of Jaro’s body with his lips, kissing his way down Jaro’s neck and shoulder and chest. Tyler flicks his eyes up to watch Jaro’s face – mouth dropping open, eyes fluttering closed, cheeks a soft pink – as he reaches the sensitive spot along his ribs.

A year is a long time but it’s nice to know some things never change.

Tyler settles between his thighs, spreads his hands against the muscle there. “I can’t believe you keep getting hotter.”

Jaro huffs and brushes his fingers up Tyler’s side. “Like a fine wine, yes?”

“Exactly.” He takes one of Jaro’s wrists and presses a kiss to his palm before curving down over his lap.

He doesn’t take Jaro into his mouth, not immediately. Instead he teases him with soft kisses to the cut of his hips and the tops of his thighs, taking his time getting him hard and feeling him fill out in his hand.

The sun is still hot coming in through the windows and Tyler feels the sweat start to cover his skin when he finally sinks down, letting Jaro’s dick settle onto his tongue.

He keeps it slow, at first, reacquainting himself with the way Jaro feels, the way he tastes, the way his muscles twitch as he fights against moving up into the wet heat of Tyler’s mouth.

He isn’t careful, getting his hand, chin, and Jaro’s whole dick messy as he works him over in a way that makes Jaro’s hands clench in the sheets. It’s noisy in the quiet room – just Tyler and his mouth and Jaro’s stifled groans when he does something exactly right.

Tyler knows Jaro is desperate when his hand settles heavy on Tyler’s shoulder and works its way to the back of his neck, suggesting a different pace.

Tyler looks up to find Jaro’s head tipped back against the pillow so his neck and chin are on display, covered in a pink sheen of sweat and blush. He’s swearing under his breath, something soft and foreign, his other hand cupping Tyler’s jaw and cheek to feel the way his dick fits in his mouth.

“ _Miláčik_ , fuck, you’re so good,” Jaro says, his body tightening up under Tyler’s work. “Just a little...it’s so close...”

Tyler relishes the soft gasps Jaro tries to hide into the pillow as he circles his tongue around the head of his dick, just the tip of it caught between his lips. At the first pulse of Jaro’s release, Tyler leans back so it hits his neck and collar bones, messing him up.

Jaro’s body relaxes even though he’s breathing heavy. “Oh, look at you.”

Tyler crawls up until he settles his knees around Jaro’s ribs, flushed dick aching to be touched now that he’s not preoccupied. “Please.”

Jaro curls his fingers around him, using the mess Tyler’s already made of himself to slick the way. It doesn’t take long, but it never does with Jaro. He comes across his chest with a groan. 

The room is sweltering now and everywhere they’re touching is sticky with sweat. “I think our lunch is probably cold,” Tyler says, slumping over to his side of the mattress.

“There’s a microwave,” Jaro assures. “It’s fine.”

 

//

 

_Norfolk State University, three years earlier_

Tyler looks at the post-it note with Jaro’s number on it every day. He has it stuck to the corner of his desk, all bright yellow and obvious. He almost convinced himself to scrub the pen ink off his arm without documenting it anywhere, but the truth was he already had most of it memorized.

Fucking numbers.

So now it sits on the corner of his desk and he looks at it every day while he’s doing linear algebra homework and studying for calculus. Some nights when he can’t sleep he’ll count cards until his eyes slip shut.

He’s gotten faster at it.

Cory and Dustin haven’t mentioned the frat house or card counting or blackjack at all since he washed the phone number off his arm. But Tyler can’t stop thinking about it.

“Hey, I’m ordering pizza, you want in?”

Tyler startles at Cory’s intrusion, heart jackhammering in his chest. “Uh, yeah. Sure. What’re you getting?”

“Supreme, extra saucy,” he says, scrolling through his phone. “You want breadsticks?”

“No, just pizza’s fine. Get a big one.”

“You got it, bro.”

Tyler almost opens his mouth to call Cory back, to ask him if he thinks about it too. If maybe he agreed with Dustin when he said they could be a team.

Instead, he picks up his phone and programs in Jaro’s number, sending a text before he loses the nerve.

_Hi it’s Tyler._

He immediately regrets it, locking his phone and flinging it onto his bed. “Shit.”

It’s been over two weeks, Jaro probably doesn’t even fucking remember him, probably gives his number out to people all the time. He’s a good-looking guy in a frat. He’s undergraduate catnip. Someone needs to create a way to suck texts back from the internet void, to cancel them before the other person has a chance to read th—

His phone vibrates.

And then vibrates again.

He scrambles for his bed to get to the messages, hands shaking as he types in his passcode.

_Hello Tyler._

_Thought you forgot about me ;)_

Tyler wants to laugh because, honestly, who could ever forget about someone who looks like Jaro? _I had to think it over. Sorry._

Three grey dots pop up immediately and Tyler’s mouth goes dry. _So what’s your answer?_

“Cory!” he shouts.

Cory comes flying by his room, grabbing onto the doorframe to stop himself. “What? What’s happening?”

“You and Dustin wanna be on a card counting team?”

Cory’s face breaks out into a wide smile that crinkles his eyes. “We thought you’d never ask, dude.”

Tyler types out the text and hits send.

 

 

The three of them meet Jaro in the basement of the small fine arts library on Friday after Dustin finishes his computer science lecture.

“I didn’t even know fine arts kids needed libraries,” Cory whispers as they trek through the unchartered territory.

It doesn’t look much different from the other libraries on campus – long rows of books and big tables to study at – but there’s a fairly obvious aura about the three of them that screams “Should Not Be Here”. Tyler ushers them along to the row of private study rooms and knocks on the door marked with a 9.

Jaro looks just as good as he did at the frat house. “Hey boys, come on in.”

There’s boxes of playing cards on the table and a pile of note cards fanned out next to them. The top one reads _sweet +16_.

“Welcome to Card Counting 101.”

They drop their backpacks and settle into the seats across from where Jaro’s things are.

“It’s an artform,” Jaro says, unboxing some cards. “And a science.” He starts to shuffle them and Tyler can barely keep his eyes off the way his fingers fold around the cards. “There are rules to follow, probabilities, and counting, of course.” He starts to deal the cards – a three, five, ten, jack, ten, ace. “But there’s always the unexpected, the human side of things. Which is more than half the fun.”

He keeps flipping cards over as he talks.

“The things I’m about to teach you were passed down from my brothers before me and their brothers before them. And, if you follow the rules, we’re gonna make a lot of fucking money.”

Tyler thinks about the pile of student loans sitting in his name, the crushing interest that will pile up when he graduates in two years without a job.

“The best way to learn is through practice, so there will be a practical exam.” He stops dealing. “And pop quizzes. What’s the count?”

Tyler smiles. “Plus-twelve.”

“Dude, _what_?” Dustin says. “How in the hell did you…wait, is he right?”

Jaro nods, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been practicing.”

Tyler wipes his palms on his jeans. “Maybe a little.”

“He flipped like, half the deck in under a minute,” Cory says.

The room falls quiet.

“It, uh, takes my mind offline,” Tyler explains. “When I’m thinking too hard or get stuck on a homework problem or I can’t sleep, I’ve been counting.”

“You are such a fucking nerd,” Cory says, beaming. “Normal people count sheep.”

Tyler shoves him.

“Well this just means that we can move on to more advanced techniques while you two get up to speed,” Jaro says, sliding a deck of cards to Cory and Dustin. “Two through six is a plus-one. Seven, eight, and nine are free. Ten and up are minus-one. The more you practice, the faster and more accurate you’ll be.”

“Why does there need to be four of us counting?” Dustin asks. “Tyler and Cory did fine at the house. They had thousands of dollars in chips by the end of it.”

“And I wasn’t even counting,” Cory says.

“So even if it’s just you and Tyler,” Dustin continues. “You’d still make money. Like, sickening amounts of money. Why do you need us?”

“Well,” Jaro says. “The way I was taught was that there are two kinds of players – The Spotters who go in first, get the count of the table, feel things out, while playing the minimum bet every time and the Big Players who go in when the table’s hot and make a fortune.”

“So we’re just there to set you guys up?” Cory asks, crossing his arms. “That’s lame.”

“You would still get a quarter of the winnings,” Jaro says. “There has to be checks and balances. We can’t all go in and play like madmen, it would draw too much attention and we’d end up making mistakes.”

“It makes a lot of sense,” Tyler agrees.

“That’s because you get to be the hero,” Cory scoffs.

“No, _actually_ ,” Tyler snaps. “It makes sense because someone has to keep the count. It’s so easy to miss a card here or there and then suddenly you think it’s plus-ten when it’s actually a plus-six and you just lost a huge bet because the table isn’t hot anymore. You’re the one who wanted to do this in the first place so shut the fuck up and listen. Because we need you.”

The silence that settles over the room is tense and it stretches out into every corner and shadow of the space, filling it up until it’s stifling. Tyler wishes he could shove all the words he just said back into his mouth.

Cory clears his throat and it cracks the tension like a whip. “Where would we play,” he asks. “End goal, once we’re good.”

Jaro smirks. “We’d start small, obviously. Then maybe a few weekend trips to Atlantic City. But the biggest gem, well, that’s always going to be Vegas.”

 

//

 

_Las Vegas, NV – Present Day_

Tyler’s always nervous when they get ready, the little voice in the back of his mind whispering that this will be the time something goes wrong, that they’ll get caught. Or maybe he’ll forget how to count and _lose_.

Dustin appears in the mirror over Tyler’s shoulder, buttoning up his maroon shirt. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.”

“I don’t know why you talk yourself into this…” He waves his hands at Tyler’s reflection. “Whatever it is. Come take shots with us and kiss your boyfriend. He’s sorting out the fakes I brought.”

Tyler grabs his zip-up hoodie from the bed before following Dustin to the kitchen. Jaro’s in a sharply tailored suit that fits every inch of him to a tee, pouring shots of Belvedere into highball glasses. He leans over to grab a lime from the pile they requested and his pants stretch across his ass. Tyler sighs.

“See?” Dustin says, softly. “Feel better already, right?”

“Shut up.”

Jaro swoops Tyler up in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his hair. He slips one of the IDs off the counter and hands it over. “Mr. Carle, for the night.”

It’s a California ID with a recent headshot and a Los Angeles address, laminated like a pro. “You’re getting scary good at these, Dustin.”

“That’s Ben Bishop from St. Louis to you.”

“Who am I?” Cory asks, coming out of the other bedroom in a faded t-shirt and cargo shorts.

“Nate Thompson,” Dustin says, passing off the last driver’s license.

“And I am Richard Panik, businessman from Slovakia,” Jaro announces, putting on a thicker accent than he usually has.

“Is that a fucking passport?” Tyler asks, plucking it from Jaro’s hand. “You faked a _passport_?”

Dustin shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Jaro already had one so it wasn’t too hard to switch all the information.”

Life of Crime seems to be the career path they all chose, in the end. Which is fine, Tyler reminds himself. They’re all in this together.

“You made my height 5’6’’, you asshole,” Cory scoffs.

Their laughter breaks the simmering tension and Tyler, not for the first time, is so very glad they’re all here. “What’s the toast tonight?” he asks, grabbing one of the glasses of vodka.

“To reunions,” Jaro offers.

“And friendship,” Dustin adds.

“Frat house casino nights,” Cory says.

Tyler smiles. “And to making out like bandits.”

The alcohol is cold enough to almost be tasteless but they grab slices of lime anyway, biting down and spitting the rinds into the sink.

“To the Flamingo!” Cory shouts, sticking the new ID in his wallet with his allotted stack of big bills. “We’ll text you when we get seats.”

Tyler’s stomach flips over as he watches Cory and Dustin leave, adrenaline mixed with that lingering anxiety. Jaro pours them another pair of shots.

“Seem nervous tonight,” he says, pulling Tyler against him.

“You know how I get,” Tyler mumbles, tucking his face into Jaro’s chest.

“It’s nothing to worry about. We’re still good, if the Bellagio was any indication.”

He exhales. “Yeah.”

“But I might know a way to clear your mind,” Jaro says, voice dropping low and sinful.

Tyler wrinkles his nose. “You’re already all dressed up.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel good.”

Tyler lets himself be shoved against the nearest wall and watches Jaro sink to his knees, smooth as ever. “Y-yeah, okay.”

 

 

The Flamingo is very pink, Tyler notices. Very vibrant and neon and one of the last remaining relics of Old Vegas. Cocktail waitresses in red sequins dash around the casino floor and pit bosses in suits stand watch at the tables. A showgirl in full feathered headgear stops to take pictures with a group of tourists.

Tyler spots Dustin at a table in his usual 3-spot, fiddling with his chips and talking to the guy sitting next to him. He goes to the bar instead.

“Could I have a coke, please, with a lime.”

Tyler tried the seltzer and lime that Jaro drinks while he plays, miming a gin and tonic, but it was absolutely appalling. He pays in cash and swirls the straw around to mix the imaginary rum in his glass.

Dustin’s high-fiving the others at his table now, big smile on his face. - someone must’ve gotten blackjack. Tyler notices there’s been a dealer change and circles closer, trying to catch Dustin’s eye. The shoe is mostly full so the deck’s been recently shuffled. The count should be high.

Dustin rolls his shoulders.

Game on.

 

It only takes Tyler two hours to double his money, another three and a half to quadruple it. The pile of chips in front of him is almost too big, creeping into the space the bet and cards go. He keeps telling himself he’ll cash out when the table goes cold, when the count drops below a plus-five. But he’s drawn quite a crowd and it makes him a little more daring with his bets.

He doubles-down on an eleven with stack of $600 on the line. The count is at plus-twelve. The dealer’s showing a five, he’ll have to hit at least once and with the deck tilted toward the high cards, there’s a high probability he’ll bust.

Tyler watches the cards land for the others at the table – two tens and an eight. The dealer has fifteen and draws a five. Twenty.

The crowd sucks in a collective breath.

The only way Tyler wins is if his card is a ten. He licks his lips.

The dealer reaches to flip the card over and –

It feels like the whole casino erupts in cheers, stranger’s hands clapping him on the back as the dealer shakes his head in disbelief, counting out a whopping $1,800 in winnings.

Tyler knows he should stay and keep playing, that making decisions with his gut gets him in trouble, but he just, “I’d like to cash out.”

The dealer stacks his chips into a plastic container and Tyler leaves a healthy tip behind before turning and slipping through the crowd toward the Cage. He checks his phone on the way, texting the group chat that he’s going back to the hotel. He wishes he knew how well Jaro’s doing, if he’s hit big like Tyler has.

“Big bills?” the cashier asks.

“Yeah, that’ll be fine. But, uh, could I get one-thousand of it in twenties please?”

Tyler watches her count out and wrap the $41,800. He wants to scream, to jump up and down, to pull everyone in the near vicinity into a hug. But he needs to be cool, keep his head down, and get the fuck out of sight. He doesn’t need any more hotel employees offering him comped rooms and car service.

“Would you like someone to escort you to your car, sir?” the cashier asks.

“Uh, no. That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

He bundles the money into his hoodie and races for the taxi stand.

 

 

Dustin’s the first one back, his own bundle of winnings in his arms, and Tyler bounces off the couch to greet him.

“This is the best I’ve ever done,” he says. “Oh my god, what a _rush_! Some woman came up to offer me a free room. I’ve never been comped anything before!”

Tyler takes a few of the stacks of money from him and lays it out on the living room table. “What’d you end up with? Double?"

“Triple.”

Tyler’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing.”

“Cory texted me when he went to the bathroom, he was just as hot. Fuck, there’s going to be so much money in this room.”

Jaro bursts through the door then, his hair all messed up and cheeks flushed. He’s got a _bag_.

“Holy shit, how much did you win?” Tyler asks, ushering him to the couch.

“I won it all,” he says, tossing the bag on the table. “So much money. They had to restock the big chips.”

Dustin dumps the bag out, spreading the stack of money in with his own. Tyler rushes to get his money from the bedroom, leaving the two stacks of twenties on the bedside table. “Here’s mine,” he says, adding it to the mountain before settling next to Jaro.

He tips Tyler’s chin his way to take his lips in a kiss, licking and biting at his mouth. Tyler groans, arching toward him.

“I know I’ve walked in on you guys more than once but please don’t fuck in front of me.”

Tyler pulls away, laughing.

“Maybe one day you’ll join in,” Jaro says, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch.

“Cory’d be so jeal--.”

The hotel room door slams open as Cory surges through, fistfuls of money in the air. “Nate Thompson is a blackjack _baller_!”

His cash joins the pile on the table. Tyler knows they’ll count it tomorrow to split it up, head their separate ways back to reality but for now…for now they’re going to celebrate.

“I’m popping the champagne,” he says, hopping over the back of the couch.

 

 

Three bottles of champagne and most of the bottle of Belvedere later, Tyler finally gets Jaro alone. Their room is dark now, illuminated only by the neon lights of the city, and the sheets are cool to the touch when Jaro lays him out on the bed.

“I adore you,” Jaro whispers into his skin.

Tyler goes hot, the vodka and champagne and Jaro’s words buzzing through his bloodstream. He kisses Jaro as he works the buttons of his shirt, the buckle of his pants, leaving a pile of Dolce and Gabbana at the foot of the bed.

“I want you to fuck me,” Tyler says, reaching out for the money he left on the nightstand. “I won eighteen-hundred dollars in one hand tonight and I want you to fuck me on it.”

Jaro rips the binding off the twenties and spreads them around Tyler’s body, tossing some in the air to watch them settle. “I would love nothing more.”

 

//

 

_Norfolk State University, one year earlier_

Tyler can’t find his graduation cap anywhere.

“We’re going to have to leave you if you don’t hurry the fuck up!” Cory yells down the hall.

He swears it was on his desk the last time he saw it, he’d put the gold tassel on it and everything. And then Jaro came over and they ordered take out and watched a movie and…

And fucked on his desk.

He struggles to move the beastly thing away from the wall but, lo and behold, his cap is sitting right there. “I’ve got it!”

“Good! Let’s _go_!”

 

The stadium is swarming with students and their families, all taking pictures in the most in-the-way spots possible. Tyler got a text from Jaro to meet him by the entrance but there’s like, six of those, and he’s not getting any service. 4G, his ass.

“We’re never going to find him,” he laments.

“Doesn’t he have Tydar or something at this point?” Dustin says. “You can’t like, pick him out of a crowd and slow-motion run into his arms?”

“Shut up.”

Cory slaps Tyler’s arm. “I see him.”

“How can you see anything? You’re a dwarf,” Dustin says, rocking up on his toes.

“Fuck off, I see him.”

 

They’re able to find four seats together and settle in for the long-winded ceremony, walking across the stage to get their degrees one after the other. It doesn’t feel any different when Tyler has the piece of paper in his hand. He thought it would, like some big monumental achievement.

It still feels like he’s going to be back here in the fall, taking more classes, more quizzes and homework and exams.

But it’s over.

It’s over and everyone is going in different directions – Dustin to a tech startup in San Diego, Cory to Syracuse for an internship, Jaro all the way to the fucking Czech Republic for a modeling gig, and Tyler. He’s going to Tampa.

Now all he feels is sad.

“All I wanted to do is graduate when I started,” he says, on their way back to the apartment. “But now I never want to leave.”

Cory slings an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll visit each other.”

“You all have to come out to California,” Dustin agrees. “Come see my cardboard box of an apartment.”

“Maybe we can make a deal,” Jaro says. “A pact that we’ll meet somewhere once a year to catch up. To make sure we see each other at least that one time.”

“There’s not really a halfway point for us,” Dustin says. “Where would we meet?”

Jaro smirks. “I think I know a place.”


End file.
